Before Thirty

34. Blake

An hour later I'm outside my parents' farmhouse trying to keep a lid on my warring emotions. Already, I'm tense and angry. Just being in the vicinity of this place makes me remember why I left, and if I ever doubted why I haven't returned, I only have to recall how they treated me and Diana when we came to visit.

There are four vehicles in the driveway, which I assume means I'm the last to arrive. Jamie, Sam, and Ang must already be here. My parents have only ever had one vehicle between them.

At the door, I examine the doorbell and realize that someone has pulled it out of the wall. For years, it didn't work, but rather than repair it, someone has just yanked it out. Classic Robinson family solution. Let's not fix what's broken. Let's make it worse.

With a resigned sigh, I knock. From inside, I hear shuffling, and then my mother draws back the door. She's tall and thin, but I can't get over how much she's aged. There are deep wrinkles and lines across her face, which, in anyone else, might be a sign of character, and her once dark hair is streaked with gray.

"Ang said you were coming, but I didn't believe it." Her bloodshot blue eyes take me in from head to foot. "I suppose you can come in, but I should warn you that your father's got the shotgun out."

Sure enough, when I enter the kitchen, the shotgun is propped beside his chair. I hope it isn't loaded. He greeted me and Diana like this as well. It's like he thinks I'll never be able to get another one over on him if he's got the gun. The only person in this house I'd even attempt to defend would be Ang. The rest of them proved long ago that they don't want to be saved. They'll drown in alcohol before they grasp my outstretched hand.

On the large kitchen table is a haphazard assortment of food, and both my parents have cigarettes burning in the ashtrays beside them. They are crammed full of butts, and I wonder if the food will taste like ash. The walls are yellowed from years of tobacco, and everything in the house looks tired, as though the house gave up the fight long ago.

Before I decide if I even want to risk talking at all, Ang bounds down the backstairs with Jamie and Sam trailing behind her.

"Thanks for coming," Ang says, enveloping me into a hug. "Let's eat. We haven't all sat at a table together in years."

And we all know the reason for that.

My father grunts and picks up his fork. He hasn't said a word to me, which means he's likely sober. My brothers are also either sober or hungover, other than a cursory nod, neither of them has said anything to me either.

The silence is thick around us, and for the first time part of me wishes I had Gwen beside me. If anyone can defuse a conversational bomb, it's her. I pick at the tasteless food.

"Nothing on your plate good enough for you?" my mother asks, her eyes narrowed at the way I've pushed things around without eating much.

"Not very hungry."

"Sorry it's not fancier to suit your doctor tastebuds," she says.

Similar digs were made last time I was here, but back then they knew Diana's family was wealthy, and the digs were meaner, more pointed. They'd also been drinking. Either way, my best bet is to ignore any comment that tries to get me to rise to it.

At least no one seems to be drunk yet. Maybe there was some method in Ang's madness. Hungover is better than three sheets to the wind.

"I gathered you all here this morning to talk about my wedding, which is in two days. Personally, I'm very grateful Blake could make it." She looks around the table and tries to make eye contact with people, but everyone else is focused on their food.